


I Don't Know What To Call You Yet

by Bawgdan



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Drama, F/M, Intimacy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25223722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bawgdan/pseuds/Bawgdan
Summary: Hisoka's ego is so radical, that he believes humiliation is the only way to make himself digestible for Machi.
Relationships: Hisoka/Machi (Hunter X Hunter)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 73





	I Don't Know What To Call You Yet

_**“I’m under absolutely no obligation to make sense to you.”** _ _**― Taylor Jenkins Reid** _

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The calico Machi has been feeding every day climbs through the window with a dead lizard in his mouth.

"I thought we agreed no strings attached?" Machi talks to the calico like it understands complex human emotions. She rubs the space between her brows, pinching at her skin.

Cats bring you dead things to show their adoration. Machi does the same thing for Chrollo. The calico meows at her sweetly. Without some random 'thing' to do for Chrollo, she feels lost. She never knows what to do with her free time.

Machi lives out of one suitcase. Clothes are all over the floor of the tiny apartment she subtenants (until Chrollo sends her on a new messy venture). Machi scoops up the dead lizard in her bare hands.

The calico follows her into the bathroom. She wraps the corpse in tissue.

"You really shouldn't have," she says to the cat in her usual dry tone. He meows again and presses his fat body against her ankles.

Her life without all the murder and lying is pretty alright. She's slowly slipping into the groove of picking what she wants to do—when she achieves ultimate comfortability, that's when Chrollo calls and she has to buy a train ticket, uprooting herself.

Three months of solitude. She's doing pretty good. Pakunoda calls her twice a day. 11:11 in the morning and 11:11 at night.

"Eleven eleven. Make a wish," Pakunoda will say with her lungs full of smoke.

There's nothing Machi wishes for. Pakunoda is sad every time because she hopes for different results. Shalnark sends her selfies every other day too.

The cat carries his fat belly out the window and vanishes after she feeds him. Machi is alone until Pakunoda calls her.

What does her free time look like?

Machi puts on a dingy white t-shirt and a fur coat Pakunoda had given her as a birthday gift. She hates that Machi never buys herself anything expensive. Out of all of them, Machi is the least materialistic.

She then hooks into her ears the cheap cherry shaped earrings she got at a gas station some months ago. A pair of black leggings and run down white sneakers. Pakunoda says you're supposed to take one thing off before you walk out the door. Machi puts on a pair of big black shades, courtesy to Pakunoda, and a red baseball cap out of spite.

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Machi likes to spend her free time watching people. She sits at the same diner within walking distance of the apartment. She sits in the same spot outside, orders a glazed donut and a cherry flavored soda—then the people watching commences. Her hair sticks out from under the cap like wild overgrowth. No one ever says anything. For one her shades are too dark. No one could begin to guess where she is looking.

Ordinary people are interesting. Maybe a conventional life with parents who love her is something she could wish for at 11:11 p.m.

She watches a thin man being walked by several dogs on several leashes. He looks very content not knowing what it's like to get away with robbing a bank, unable to fathom being hired by government officials to steal from each other. She just knows if she told him that she likes the smell of dead bodies, his brain would short circuit. Very wholesome with his happy dogs. Machi can only imagine. Chrollo jokes about what human flesh tastes like. Nobunaga is the only one who doesn't think he is kidding. That man would think Chrollo is kidding, probably.

Machi wants to conceive a world where people like her don't exist. Only for five minutes. The dogs tug him around a corner and Machi will never see him again. She finds someone else to project her feelings onto.

She brings the clear straw to her lips and in an instant the atmosphere shifts like a silent bolt of lightning strikes through her. The smell of Hisoka's nen interrupts her routine. Suddenly her drink doesn't taste so good anymore.

Machi pays for her sad excuse of a meal and quickly steps out of the diner. Pushing her shades up her nose, she creates distance between herself and his aura, shoes scuffing against the pavement. Chaos follows Hisoka like a rotten smell. Machi is rarely ever stressed, she doesn't even have strong opinions about people, but Hisoka makes the back of her throat itch.

The smell seems to collapse behind her. She stops by a store and buys two glossy magazines and three bags of hot chips. Her nerves settle on her way back to the apartment. If she stays inside, Hisoka can't ruin the rest of her day.

But she turns that final corner and there he is, standing outside the iron gate that leads to the stairs and stucco walls. His nen is like a sudden power surge, a light flickering on, humming loudly before it blows out. She almost drops her chips and magazines to the ground. In her mind, she throws them against the black wall of her imagination, causing a ruckus, but on the outside she keeps walking like she doesn't quite recognize him

It isn't until she is by the iron door, standing under him when she slides her shades down the bridge of her nose. Machi glares at him with scrutiny. Hisoka opens his mouth. All of his teeth are white and straight.

"No," She clips before he can speak. Machi struggles carrying her things while she digs in the pocket of her fur coat for the keys.

"I'm usually the one hiding." He slides his fingers into her pocket. Their knuckles bump together. His gold bracelet is shockingly cold against her skin. Machi jerks her hand back from the immediate contact, damning her keys. Hisoka picks them from her warm pocket.

"How did you find me?" She does a good job at concealing her nen. Being inconspicuous is her thing.

He slides the right key into the lock on the first try. Machi doesn't know why she hesitates to hit him in the face. He laughs to himself.

"You don't really wanna know." Hisoka really wants to tell her. He will eventually get around to it. She pushes the gate open and squeezes around him. Hisoka always smells really good. Her coat absorbs his smell.

"What do you want?" She takes off her shades and folds them on the collar of her t-shirt.

"Why do you always think I want something?" He follows behind her, still gripping her keys.

"Because you don't just do things for the shits and giggles." Machi has known this about him since the first time she laid eyes on him. He moves like a snake through tall grass.

They stop at her door.

"Door number four," he doesn't quite purr, but he finds subtle hilarity in it. Hisoka rolls his tongue in his mouth. Machi doesn't ever try to get in on the joke. She snatches her keys out of his hand.

"I could have just missed you." He steps inside the apartment beside her.

"That's funny. I didn't think you were capable of being sentimental. Who would've thought, Hisoka, that you're a big sap." She blocks him from venturing further into her temporary personal space with her body.

"Machi..." He breathes through his perfect teeth, lifting his hand to her face and thumping the plastic of her cherry earrings so hard they thwack her cheek. His bracelet slides down his veiny arm. Machi grimaces, pursing her lips to sneer.

"The quicker you get out, the sooner I can resume my staycation away from you." She slaps at his hand. The palm of her hand against his sharp wrist makes that fleshy smack sound.

"You say that like it's a specific condition to be in. Do I make you ill?" Hisoka's mouth relaxes into a straight line. He tilts his head to the side to show that he is listening. His gold Saturn shaped earrings look heavy. Machi notices faint traces of glitter down his nose and at the arch of his lips. His chin too. Down this throat.

"I make you want to vomit?" Hisoka blinks expectantly.

Machi isn't only trying to stay away from him. Sometimes she needs to shut the noise out of her life. Chrollo is suffocating. He'd snuffed out some of her identity. Pakunoda says you can't buy new shiny parts to add to your personality, while also insisting that Machi curate a fashionable identity. You have to work with what you have, Machi.

Machi wants to be ok with just being weird and maladjusted to normal things. Hisoka is weird and is comfortable with it. The missing parts of herself are too unnerving to feel safe with who she is.

"You're irritating me. If you got your dick chopped off, you better get your own thread and needles and sew it back on yourself." She scoffs and takes off her cap.

Hisoka doesn't laugh. His shoulders relax. Chewing on his bottom lip, he steps around her and starts to pull open all the tiny drawers in the kitchen. He doesn't stop until he finds a sharp knife.

"Nothing here belongs to me." She sort of warns him.

Hisoka has a concentrated face. He lays his right hand down on the counter and rests the knife on his index and middle finger.

Machi watches his muscles tighten in his left arm. He presses the knife into his fingers. She doesn't react until the blade breaks through the tissue and bone, thwarting against the counter top like he'd just chopped a vegetable.

He stares down at the swell of blood. He has the longest eyelashes she's ever seen on a man. They dip slowly. It's the most serious she's seen him. Hisoka observes his mangled hand. Half of his index finger hangs on by a thread of flesh. Blood weeps down his nice pale arm.

"I need you to fix me up." Hisoka picks up his severed middle finger.

"What if I tell you no?" She stands beside him to get a better look at his self mutilation.

"You won't because you love money. You get off to it. You hoard it like a dragon." This is a sound claim. Machi loves money that she never spends. Wealth has been denied to her for so long. She has so much dishonest money she can never figure out what to do with it.

"What are you willing to pay?" Machi folds her arms over her chest.

"There is no ceiling."

"Twenty six million jenny." Machi doesn't stutter.

"Yes." He smiles sharply and Machi gets the disgusting thought to press the tip of her tongue against his canine.

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Hisoka hates her fur coat. It looks like the dead thing it used to be slung over the back of her chair. It doesn't suit her. Now that he thinks about it, staring a hole into her forehead, Machi doesn't look good in anything she wears. Clothes eat her.

With her elbows propped on the card table, her wraith-like fingers glide over his hand. The smokey threads of her nen burn like dry ice. Hisoka doesn't mind it. He watches her face. She'd thrown her hair up into her usual, unbrushed ponytail. The cherry earrings pull down on her delicate looking earlobes. Hisoka believes that they are on two ends on the spectrum of carelessness.

"That coat is so ugly, it's offensive, Machi." It looks ridiculous bunched around her back. She clearly hasn't taken good care of it either. There's patches where the hairs look dried together.

"Pakunoda gave it to me. I wear it because it is ultimately the thought that matters." Machi encloses her tiny hands around his index and middle finger. The phantom threads absorb into his skin, sizzling like smoke. His fingers are longer than her fist.

"It has sentimental value—you know all about that don't you?" She looks him in the eyes.

"I missed you so much, I chopped my fingers off so you'd believe me. I know all about sentimental value." Hisoka wishes Machi were partial towards him. He genuinely likes her, but she will never give him the transparency he desires because she knows better. Hisoka likes it so much because she won't give it to him. He sort of gets off to being humiliated by her. She holds onto his fingers for a while. Squeezing, the inside of her palm palpitating around his sore bones.

"Why do you like me, Hisoka? I don't like you nearly as much, if at all." Machi's neck is thin, the ridges of her spine are visible. Her skin is tight around her collar bone too. Little to no fat.

"Because you exhaust so much physical strength to dislike me. I admire your commitment." Hisoka smiles, revealing his dimples.

"You could just say because you think I'm pretty. Like a normal person." She gives a slight shrug with her right shoulder.

"We aren't normal people." He wants to fit the entirety of his body inside of her clenched palm. Their skin softens in the warmth of her rhythmic squeezing.

"What's the deal, Hisoka—you think I'm pretty?" She is now playing his game and he loves it when she stoops to his level. He can only anticipate it. Machi isn't predictable. Her entire body relaxes, even the compression of her hand around his fingers.

"Do I?" Hisoka will never adhere to the standards of beauty. Neither does Machi. She rejects beautiful things. To simply reduce her to pretty is banal. Pretty ignores the cells that makeup her body and the chemicals in her brain. She could snap his fingers in half again if she wanted to with her wispy fingers. His mouth waters.

"I like to consider what your soul tastes like. Is it sugary? Sour? Thick and buttery when it goes down or light and smooth? I want some of you to get stuck in my throat." Hisoka says with a pool of saliva under his tongue.

"You want to eat me?" Machi asks blithely with her small, compact voice. What some people would call mousy but Hisoka considers it a reminder of death and how quietly it can occur, suddenly, out of nowhere, like a phantom.

"I would love to swill you around in my mouth," he says very seriously.

"What do you think you taste like, Hisoka?"

"Fifty million and you can give me a taste. No one has ever told me." Hisoka rubs his lips together.

"Disgusting." Machi sighs.

"Eighty million." Hisoka's tone of voice is direct.

Machi really smiles. Eighty million is a lot of money she doesn't actually need. This perverted exchange should be humorless, yet she bathes in it. Hisoka and his terrible chaos strikes again. She brings his fingers to her lips. They stretch her small mouth. The hardness of her teeth, the slick texture of her tongue sends a creepy crawly eroticism up the length of his arm. Her sucking intensifies with her breathing. Hisoka tastes like dried blood. Bitter.

"You taste like an uncooked human." She slides his fingers from the fullness of her mouth.

"Two hundred million if I can taste you," It rockets out of his throat. He isn't blinking.

"You're going to go broke for the sake of being a pervert." Machi clicks her tongue.

"Two hundred million." Hisoka doesn't stutter.

"You don't have that kinda money..." Machi wants to laugh but Hisoka looks gravely committed to this god awful tryst.

"Two hundred and fifty million, Machi." The back of his ears are hot.

Machi lets go of his hand. They glower at each other for some time. The calico cat scurries from beneath her bed.

The right idea occurs to her. She stands up. The chair scoots harshly against the wooden floor. With her thumb, she tugs down the band of her leggings. Hisoka begins to sweat between his eyes at the sight of her tight-looking belly button. Machi kicks off her leggings then her pastel green panties. She yanks her panties from her left ankle, sits her bare ass down on her chair, then neatly folds them into Hisoka's large hand.

"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results." She holds his stare. Hisoka keeps his jaws tight. His insides melt to hot goo. Machi doesn't realize yet that she has failed tremendously at being humorous. He closes his fingers around the thin, cheap fabric (always cheap with Machi, for someone so money hungry). Hisoka considers the weight of her underwear in his hands.

"I'd never let your mouth near me." She sneers.

"But you can suck on me? Isn't that more demeaning?" Hisoka with his propped elbow on the table holds up her underwear in the sunlight. The seams had been pulled to looseness. The lace has wide gaps, causing misshapen loops and warped flower patterns. Balls of lint are knotted in the loose threads. She's had them for a long time. They've tumbled through a washing machine many times. The fabric is damp with her sweat.

"Tell me what I taste like, Hisoka. I haven't showered since last night." Machi sucks on her crooked teeth.

Hisoka will never use personal identifiers such as unworthy or undeserving. He brings her panties to his nose, sudden, yet without stammering eagerness because he wants to hold on to opportunity for however long he is capable. He sits upright with his shoulders tight. Machi stares back at him. He sniffs first. The scratchy fabric covers his nose and mouth and chin. First, her brininess crawls up his nose, dead, dried skin cells mixing with fresh in the process of dying skin cells. Then Hisoka takes another strong hit off her panties. Her femininity moves through the strength of his body like an infection. He cups the panties in both hands, pressing them into the dewiness of his face. He sweats profusely. He can taste Machi in his throat.

She frowns when his muscles twitch. Machi is repulsed at herself for not knowing what to expect.

Hisoka searches for words that describe what she smells like. Like a typical woman, obviously, but attraction enriches the truth. His vivid imagination leaves him to perish in the rawness. He presses his tongue where her smell is potent. Just a taste isn't enough. He shoves the crotch of her panties in his mouth. Machi is disturbed by his profound lust. His back curls forward like a snake's tongue.

"What do I smell like?" Her voice is so light compared to the heaviness of her smell.

"I can't even begin to tell you..." He is overcome with satisfaction. It feels like there are needles in his armpits. "I need to think about it a little longer."

"I'm starting to think you've never smelled a vagina before." She tries to smooth over her awe.

Hisoka just smiles, chewing on the string that sits between her asscheeks. He thinks she smells raw, but in a good way—imagines slicing her stomach open, down the middle, and eating her contents. Unfortunately, he needs a little more time to figure out what her soul tastes like.

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**Author's Note:**

> Who is gonna call the fanfic police first?


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